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2014.03.16 - Red and Black
News flashes headlines in bright neon lights of the death of Tony Stark; news marquis all across the city carry the same, sad tidings. The death of Iron Man. The head of Stark Industries passes. Those who have never met the man in person are interviewed as 'men (and women) on the street', and each echo that sentiment: Loss. How 'Tony' was a good guy. And perhaps a little fear as to those now left behind. Earlier in the day, up in Mystic Seaport, Connecticut, there is more than a little commotion. Ships are pulled from their mooring lines, set adrift into the water, and deep into the harbour. Sails are raised, but no crew seems to man any of the larger sloops, the cutters built more than a century and a half ago. Through all the chaos, another ship slips through. It's a Viking Longship, dragon detail across the front bow, and across the back. Large striped sails catch the wind, and unlike the other ships, this one... this one has a ruddered course. Down the coast, Loki and... a partner in crime (as it were) sail seemingly effortlessly with the God of Chaos at the helm. He looks both exhilerated and pensive, his expression never given full measure before the next emotion finds 'voice'. The seas are a little choppy, and in a way, it's good. Now, at sunset, the Viking Longboat slides into New York Harbour, no lights and under full sail. It silently glides through, cutting the water like a thief in the night until finally Loki finds a berth for it. It's only temporary, for the ship will sail once again before the rise of the sun. Said 'partner in crime' is a woman in black, every detail of her person impeccably refined as well as can be expected while out upon a sailing ship during the evening hours. One hand delicately holds the wide-brimmed hat in place atop a head full of brown hair, standing beside Loki with her gaze turned toward the open waters. "While I admire your devotion, he -was- just another human. It was only a matter of time before this would happen. Frankly, I'm amazed that he didn't put himself six feet under years ago." Even so, there's nothing quite like a good blazing inferno to warm the core during those cold 'very nearly but not quite Spring' evenings. She'll enjoy the moment for what it is. She's been on worse dates. It begins at a mote, floating in the middle of the dock. The mote lengthens, turns to a sword slash toward the ground, then opens to admit Thor, God of Thunder, and Sif, Valyrior of Anthony Stark. Both look somber and cold and distant as the portal closes behind them and they eye the longboat in silence. A crisp wind ruffles past. So did you hear that a viking boat was sailing nearby? Vorpal did. There were all sorts of calls coming in on the B.S.A. channel and the Cheshire had to check things out. With everything that had gone on, an antique like that sailing into the Harbor had a high probability of being Yet Another Problem Waiting To Happen. When he arrives at the docks, Sif and Thor are already standing there. So, naturally he heads in their direction, looking at the ship. "... am I optimistic in hoping this is some sort of historical society?" he asks, seeing Thor here sort of made his hopes that this was just all casual plummet. "I don't think the SCA does much nautical stuff," Tigra says as she joins the Asgardians and other feline. "Figure the people who'd do reenactments on the water are probably more Patrick O'Brien fans," she adds, tail twitching. Yeah, she's prattling a bit. News of Stark's death travels fast, to be sure. And, for today, Natasha has left Pepper in the care of friend. It's not yet been 48 hours since the news broke. Pepper is not doing well. Natasha is reluctant to leave her, but there is other business she needs to attend. Truthfully, she's not in the harbor for the sake of a funeral. Not intentionally, anyway. She steps off a boat, coincidentally, rather than purposely, dressed in black, and pauses when she sees the longboat in the bay. At first, she is surprised. But, as she hurries along the quay to get closer to get more details, she then sees the small cluster of Avengers. "What's going on?" she asks as she approaches them now. "If you can't do something like this for a proper enemy, who can you do it for?" Loki shrugs as he moves forward to the mooring lines. "Besides," he calls over his shoulder, "this makes it easier for me to torment him in He-- Oh, hallo, Brother." Picking up the ends of heavy rope, he leaps effortlessly onto shore to tie the bow, tugging at the -large- ship to pull it in just a little closer so his passenger can disembark without concern. Holding a hand up for Mystique, he waits before he turns back around to check his handiwork. Loki's expression shifts over to determination, a sort of calm in the knowledge of what next is to be done. On the shore, there comes a conjuration, an appearance of a large cask of mead, and in the next moment, with a flick of his hand, the ship is suddenly populated with ghostly men and women, the count of eight and five respectively. Now upon the boat itself looks a lot like what could be described as an image, an effigy lying 'in state', and there, in that central location, those men and woman now gather, their ghostly expressions almost serene. Loki works quickly now for the final preparations, making sure everything is right. The mead. He looks to his brother again and nods, though now the gesture now includes the others; time to put the weapons aboard. The drink. The feast. The slaves are already aboard. "I cannot rightly say this has ever been a priority of mine," Mystique cooly replies. ..Wait. Brother? "Oh, so -that's- what all of the racket was," she says to herself with a lilting sigh while waiting for her chance to step off of the ship in 'proper' fashion. It's not every day she finds herself within such peculiar company. Asgardians, a peculiarly colored pair of feline creatures, and a redhead that happens to look way too normal to be an obvious mutant. She hadn't been aware that Loki had phoned ahead for this demonstration. Then again..maybe he hadn't. "Done this often?" she quietly inquires to the Trickster's single-minded motivation in preparing all of the details. Hopefully her son doesn't decide to drop in during any of this. The torching of a historical sailing ship wouldn't sit so well with the poor boy. As Loki steps forward, so does Thor, and her aids in hauling the longship in to moor. Sif just watches with a detached sort of calm. "Loki has prepare a Funreal Feast," Thor says to Keith and TIgra and Natasha as he looks over Mystique and discounts her as 'friend of Loki' 'random mortal' 'handle with care', and looks to his brother. "This is well thought of, brother. He will be pleased and it, along with the other missives, shall be carried back to him," says Thor. And it's clear in how Sif remains silent that there will be only one message sent back to Tony. It is unwise to disturb the dead, lest unquiest spirits they become. Hela gets grumpy about it. It's why we can't have nice things. Vorpal is extremely wary when Loki appears. And then an elegant woman who looks like a million dollars (Carmen Sandiego? Who knows) as his companion? The Cheshire cat has brushed up a lot on history and culture of particular cultures after encountering beings like Thor... and Diana (though in her case, there was no realy book that could tell him anything pertinent about the Amazons. It was clear that the account that went down in history were written by unsympathetic peoples.) So he recognizes the funerary customs. The question is-- where did Loki get the ship? He notices Tigra and Black Widow approaching, and he remains silent for now, to see how Thor is going to deal with this. The female feline gives Natasha a friendly nod of greeting, and lets Thor answer her question. "Huh," she says softly at the answer, looking to Loki and his...companion, and then the ship and it's spectral passengers. "That's a helluva gesture," she says, before wincing at the inadvertant pun. Natasha doesn't trust Loki. She's never trusted Loki. She might be one of the few people on the planet who has a chance of occasionally (very occasionally) fooling the trickster god, but that doesn't make her a fan. Nor is she entirely convinced this isn't all going to end horribly, despite the apparent sincerity of the gesture. So, she gives Tigra and Vorpal a brief greeting that is a light nod and a tight, almost-smile. Then, she merely steps to one side, takes the measure of the woman that accompanies the Asgardian, and watches Thor and Sif for some indication of what's what here. Because Russian funerary customs are a little different than this. "Actually, some. Odin's the one that wrote all this." Loki's voice drops to a level that might be considered a 'stage whisper'. "Notice the human sacrifice? Very important, that. Must have slaves in Valhalla, after all." He's joking- mostly. The apparitions aboard do look somewhat ghostly. *ahem* Looking to Sif, Loki's gaze lingers before he shrugs lightly as all is made and ordered, "If I couldn't kill him, the least I could do is offer this," he murmurs, a quirk of a smile setting upon his face before he steps forward again. "Sorry this is so sudden. Usually, there'd be weeks of drinking and the like, but you know.. death waits for no man." Or.. whatever. The God of Chaos moves a little closer to the boat once again, and pulling out his dagger, cuts the line with a single stroke. Here, he waits for Thor to fill the sails to bring the ship back out to the harbour. Softly, in a quiet voice, he begins to chant; to Thor and Sif, it is the melodic sound (to their ears anyway!) of the Aesir. To the others, it is in the language of their birth. Their native tongue. "Lo, There do I see my Father; Lo, There do I see my Mother and My Brothers and my Sisters; Lo, There do I see the line of my people back to the begining. Lo, They do call to me, They bid me take my place among them in the halls of Valhalla where thine enemies have been vanquished, Where the brave shall live Forever Nor shall we mourn but rejoice for those that have died the glorious death." "So this is the family," Mystique quietly remarks while looking over the other Asgardians. They rather look ..different from Loki. There's several tells, some more subtle than others. It's perhaps something to ask him about at a later time. The ones that really hold her attention are Tigra and Vorpal, however. Here stand two beings which are very likely much more her speed, as it happens to be. Metas, of some fashion, she's willing to bet. "Well aren't you two a peculiar sight," she 'greets' with a thin smirk. Human sacrifice, huh? Here, Mystique leans closer to Loki to speak softly into his ear "You didn't have to use illusions, dear." She could have helped. She would have been more than happy to help, in fact. Eh. Whatever burns his little red longship. Sif gives Loki the tiniest nods of her head as Thor steps back to her side. They say nothing as Loki comments of human sacrifice. The don't even glance at each other, nor do they move to drink the mead or eat the food. They are, it seems, not here as mortal participants. Thor's eyes glimmer softly, and a cool sharp wind whistles past, fills the sails, and tugs the longboat out to harbor, while his voice joins Loki's in the ritual prayer. Loki Mystique Thor Vorpal Tigra Natasha Sif "Everybody says I am, ma'am." Keith says, his voice tight as Loki and Thor begin chanting. The cat's eyes go hard and he looks down, feeling that tightness creeping in his chest. Rage emerges and forces it all down, further back. He raises his head now and stares straight ahead at the boat, his expression hard to read. Tigra grows quiet at Loki's solemn chant. Her tail flicks side to side as she listens, and when he finishes, she softly murmurs, "What can you see on the horizon? The ships have come to carry you home." Stupid song. The moment fades with Mystique's smirk and greeting. "We represent the breakfast cereal and bubblegum interests Mr. Stark had invested in," she says dryly. Her eyes flick to the other woman in black, studying her as she studies the felines. Loki, annoying as he is, is a known quantity. And he seems to actually be sincere about all this. The woman, however... she could probably care less about all this. But, not by much. So, the Widow hasn't quite decided why she's actually here, yet. Because Loki never needs arm candy. A momentary silence is taken by Loki as the ending of the prayer finds its way to the 'heavens', to the Halls of Asgard and Valhalla. There, Heimdall will hear, and because of the rarity 'these days' of a ritual prayer spoken in something resembling Ancient Norse, but so very different, the chances are good that Odin himself will hear. He, too, is not here as mortal participant, but as a representative of the Gods. (After a fashion.) When Loki speaks again, he's quiet, but conversational. "Yes. The blond with the muscles? That'd be Thor. The one with him, my sister in law, Sif." Loki sidles back next to Mystique as he checks his 'stash'. Arrows. Time to grab the bows and arrows. "Are you ready?" He hands one set to Mystique before he pauses in her leaned whispers. There's a moment when there is silence before he leans and whispers back, "Who said they're illusions?" Straightening now, Loki brightens and gestures towards the armament, the food and drink. "Ladies and gentlemen, there is food and drink to toast the Valiant Warrior who has passed on to the Halls." The younger Prince sounds so very.. genuine in the offrance, but to those who simply can't find it in their hearts to trust him, perhaps there's a twinge of.. something there? Probably nothing. "And if I could trouble you, take up your bows and bring an arrow up, and I will light it's way." With Thor's push, the brightly coloured longship begins to move upon its own volition, the sails filled and it glides effortlessly towards the horizon. With the query about her readiness, Mystique nods once and accepts the arrows and bow from the Trickster. It's but a moment later that one of her shaped brows hooks upward slightly, a soft but enlightened "Oh..." voiced in response. Marvelous. While this may not be her scene, she wouldn't miss taking a shot at the vessel with a flaming arrow. It's been such a long time since she's gotten to enjoy a bit of archery. Once the tip is set alight she artfully draws back on the string, coming upward at an angle in order to lob the missile toward its intended target. (This is for missing Mother's Day, you ungrateful child.) The arrow's let loose with something of a whisper, the flickering orange speck arcing through the night sky. That it happens to pass through the chest of one of those 'illusionary' slaves before catching the timbers is just..unfortunate. Truly. Thor and Sif watch the boat go up in flames without a word. This Thor knows. This Thor is comfortable with. And his brows draw together to crease his forehead. Sif slips her hand into his as they watch the flames. Keith has never shot anything in his life with a bow and arrow. He does his best, though, as he prepares the arrow as requested. His expression is still inescrutable, that blank cat stare, but his grief is genuine. Even if he would not let it out. He pulls back the arrow once it is lit and the signal is given, and he fires. And that wasn't... too bad. He did hit the longship. Barely. At the mention of food and drink, and its purpose of toasting Tony, Tigra will get a bit of mead to do exactly that, rather than getting a bow. She lifts her drink in a silent toast towards the longship, and as missiles start towards it, takes a long, slow drink. Would anyone believe that finishing school in the 40's included archery lessons? It's true. Of course, the finishing school Natalia Romanova was in was a little different than for most girls, since it also included several other subjects that would have scandalized Western educators of the day. And it was broken by the tromp of Germanic boots across frozen soil. The Black Widow glances to Thor and Sif. It is solely and absolutely only because they seem on board with this that she is remotely (very remotely) willing to risk trusting the trickster. She picks up a bow, smoothly nocks and arrow, and lets it fly as unerringly as Mystique... ''without impaling a ghost along the way. The winds whip about, pulling the boat further from the dock, further out to sea. The keen of nose would smell it first. It's a hint of ozone riding high on the winds above the smell of smoke and oil. A flicker of blue-white electricity dances around Thor's pupils. The boat floats out of arrow range. Dark black storm clouds gather over the ocean. A blinding flash. A javelin of skyfire streaks from the clouds to strike the boat deadcenter, and bright orange flames errupt. The crack of thunder that accompanies the flash is a physical punch to the center of everyone's chest, right in the sternum, right where Tony's 'heart' would be. The skies fall silent. The clouds part, and stars twinkle. Category:Log